


Little Bit of Light

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Series: Bedroom Hymns [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Funeral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Word Porn, it's really just pretty language and naked people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2065464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Lounds got put in the ground, death lingered on Alana's breath. It filled the air, filled her lungs. She needed to exhaust it somehow, to force it out. And, like last time, she found herself in a familiar bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit of Light

**Author's Note:**

> I made a dumb comment about funeral sex and four people screamed at me to write about it after Freddie's fake funeral.

Her face was hot but her fingers were cold, tiny icicles in her thick gloves. Their chill was spreading through her arms, settling down in the pit of her stomach. She was so disgusted by it all.

He understood her presence, understood the graveness of her face. Taking her inside, he unwrapped her winter clothes like she were a Christmas present, all dressed up in tinsel and gold.

They kissed once, twice, before she spoke, twisting her scarf between her palms. She told him about the death, about the graveyard. It wasn’t romantic, the decision, but carnal. Needy. He did not passionately take her into his arms, nor did he carry her to his bed. She turned on her heel and he followed, beginning to disrobe on the stairs.

She lay herself out on his sheets, letting him strip her of her remaining clothes, watching as her undergarments fluttered to the floor.  _I need to feel alive_ , she said in a whisper.  _I need to feel whole_.

With a last sock tossed carelessly away, he joined on top of her, careful not to let her carry too much of his weight. He had the fortune of not feeling as though he were dancing alongside death, and therefore had drive to right her.

He started slowly, sitting up, his hands running up and down her calves. She watched him curiously, having expected a quick fuck and a reintroduction to the door. The plans had changed, and he appeared to be intent on making love to her for long, long hours into the night.

Like the last spoil of the war.

Kissing down her thighs, he was careful not to get too close, preparing to overstimulate the rest of her body first. He was gentle but firm, subduing even the most minute of responses. He knew she thought her hips were too narrow, and that her breasts were  _so close_  to the right size—the size that would fill his palms—but the way he touched her made her feel perfect. Hand-crafted. His fingertips skirted like kisses across the valley of her hips, his breath rushing wind to weather her, to make her his.

His teeth branded the soft skin around her navel, the lingering red ring a promise, something he couldn’t fulfill. Bites on her ribs fluttered through to her heart, pulse quick in anticipation. He seemed to stay hours with his lips exploring the plain between her breasts, one cupped in each hand, fingers lazily rolling across the pale-and-red skin.

Her shoulders came next, the thin skin over the bones made raw by his mouth. He was claiming her again, with patches now rather than rings. He had her sit up so he could reach her back and her spine, fingers once again discovering the outline of her body, passing frequently over the indent of her waist.

She bared her neck to him welcoming the marks she knew he’d inflict as his hands traveled down, playing with the petals she kept between her legs. She began to sing for him as he kissed the hollow of her jaw. He laid her down, settling against her hips, his heat building inside her.

The tenderness of his touch surprised her. He had never gone this slowly, not even the first time she’d been laid bare before him, both craving sex after the metaphorical death of a friend. Now she alone needed it, and he was delivering better than she could have hoped.

Faster, now, faster to finish, to release, to free this demon from her chest. He followed soon after she called out his name, white haze and fuzzy hearing pulling her from reality. She resurfaced beside him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He brushed back her hair, cradling her head.  _Are you all right?_  he asked, his voice low and soft.

She nodded, unsure of the reason behind the crying.  _I don’t know if it’s the timing or the hormones or the sex_ , she started, wiping her cheeks,  _but I think I might be more than fond of you_.

_How much more?_

_A whole lot more_.

And he cradled her to his chest, his strong arms her cage, bars to keep out the darkness.

_I am equally attached, I imagine. Do you feel more alive now?_

_I feel like I’ve been remade, created into something new._

_You’re my something now, and I’ll do my best to protect you._

**Author's Note:**

> FAT LOT OF GOOD THAT DID YOU


End file.
